


Lunar Threads

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Open Marriage, Vaginal Fingering, borderline abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry and Draco having fucked up interactions. Sexual to different degrees, always humiliating for Harry.Update: apparently Ginny is also here.Update: there might be some Draco/Harry fluff at the ending.Update: As I see it know, this will be enemies to exclusively sadomasochistic relationship to exclusively sort-of-romantic relationship.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 14





	Lunar Threads

~1995~

The already pale face looked even paler when illuminated solely by the light of the moon. The eyes where round and silver, two additional moons. The hair, lunar threads, so straight and thin, reaching his shoulders, part of it still tied in a loose ponytail. The white cheeks, plump, silky smooth. And the _lips_ , fat and humid and cherry colored; a big, fat cherry embedded in his face.

Such a rotten soul did not deserve such a face.

For the first time since he remembered, Harry found himself wishing that he was beautiful. He had never considered the matter, probably since he had never considered the possibility of a man being beautiful. Cho was beautiful, and Ginny was, and even Hermione had her moments. When had Malfoy started to be? Had he always been, was it just a matter of awareness?

This silly current of thought stopped when Malfoy pulled his arms and caught Harry’s face. The arms were as white as the face, gleaming by the slightest, silver, _shadow_ of hair. And they were strong, no muscular at all, but _broad and strong_. The fingers' touch on Harry’s face was also strong, unexpectedly rough, and pleasantly cold. His breath was warm, and when he kissed Harry with those fat cherry lips, it was minty-fresh. He could feel one rough finger caressing his neck. Veeery slowly… Veeery softly...

Then, a tiny bite on his lip. Harry pulled back, startled.

A mean laugh. “So…? Do you want me to fuck you, Potter?”

Harry must have had looked as horrified as he felt, because Malfoy’s laugh turned louder and meaner. “Could be,” he added, “but I don’t think so. I don’t waste my time fucking idiots.”

Harry ran away, eager for some peace and the comfort of his hand. The mean laugh followed him.

***

Inside his mind, he was touching Malfoy's _waist_. He had never seen said waist, as it was always covered by heavy black robes. Inside his mind, it was almost like a girl’s: very slim, yet very soft. He was touching and licking and kissing it.

He wanted to be held by warm strong arms, and rest his head on a silky chest. It was more than annoying; masturbation could not help with that.

~2020~

Blueish dawn light was filtered through the half opened window blinds. Harry was curled up between cold sheets, fingering Ginny.

She had not aged. She had gained weight, but in the right places: mostly ass and boobs, a bit in her belly. Her boobs looked like huge globes of chocolate-chip vanilla ice-cream. Her hair was fully red and waist long. Her face glowed with youth.

Harry had aged, not well. Way too thin, with hollow cheeks, a couple of ribs showing and some fucking loose skin. He did not look like an auror, but like some kind of God-damned scholar.

He was slowly, lovingly, widening the wet walls of Ginny’s pussy with two broad fingers. Now he was pressing the soft fleshy labia; first from side to side, then, firmly splitting them, slowly landing on the clitoris, causing her to emit a sweet moan. His other hand was caressing his own -thanks God- big hard cock.

He pulled his fingers out and sucked them, delighting himself at the rich oceanic taste. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the dark waves taking him.

***

She had declared one day that she would be fucking other people. Not asked or proposed – declared. Of course, he was welcome to do so as well. He had, a couple of times; a couple of witches that apparently had never got over the whole “famous Harry Potter” thing, so they were able to ignore his deteriorated looks.

She was organizing orgies now. Despite her insistence, Harry would not take part. While he had to admit that the idea did sound pleasurable _in theory_ , he could not understand what the point was of fucking a lot of people together, if you were not attracted to those people from the beginning. You would have to be blind to be attracted to the kind of people she would bring, and that would be bad enough if he had not known most of those people from _school_. He had proposed to invite some muggles as well, so to at least increase the diversity, but she had firmly opposed. “Not only it means no magic _at all_ , also I know muggles, always insisting on those stupid mind altering drugs. A boring, cheap imitation if magic. Very unhealthy, also, terrible for your brain.”

So he would stay at Ron and Hermione’s, in the evenings in which Ginny was using the house. Those two seemed to have had exhausted all their marital drama back at fucking Hogwarts. Harry kind of missed those days. Now, it was always slightly uncomfortable to be together with both of them at the same time; there was always something noticeably sexual about their energy (even if _they_ did not seem to notice), always distractedly pinching each other, even spanking each other when they were allegedly close enough to alone. But it was not that bad. Ron definitely did look like an auror, whatever that even meant; long, tied back hair, a little pot belly, tattooed arms. So awfully stereotypical, that it made Harry feel better about his own scholar-ish looks.

***

A dinner with friends, if you could call this way to half of the British magical community. But it was important for Ginny’s job at the Ministry of Magic. Harry was extremely glad that no politics were necessary for _his_ job, only being good at it. And he was.

But, unbelievable as it might seem, Ginny actually enjoyed hosting those meetings. So Harry was walking around, making sure that their guests were enjoying themselves, telling jokes, being a supportive fucking husband. The only pro was that this way he could always be sure that she would not leave him; as a woman in a position of power, an auror was the lower limit of what she could settle for. Of course, he was just being bitter, Ginny loved him. He could be such a bitch sometimes. But at least he was a stable enough bitch to keep all the bitchiness inside his own fucking head.

Potter had a nice house, thought Draco, appreciatively, and the food was good. He should have had come before. Poor Potter seemed to be suffering, though, being nice to all those people. It had never been his strong point. Very amusing. Still pretty, also. So tiny, like some little broken bird. And those skinny arms, like a young girl’s. And all this dark wild hair. Very cute. Endless possibilities.

He was close now. “Harry!” he called softly, not to startle the tiny thing.

He was startled anyway. “Draco! Good to see you here! Hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he greeted with a fake, venomous smile.

Speaking of someone who hadn’t aged, Malfoy always looked the fucking same, even when Harry did not see him for years. Of course, a bit taller and broader than when he was a child, but not much, since he had always been tall and broad. His cheeks had also gone hollow, but it just gave him a tough, elegant look. His mouth and eyes were surrounded by the thinnest of lines. His hair still shoulder long; now with a few white threads mixed between the blond, adding to the silvery loveliness.

“You should stop worrying so much about everyone and eat something yourself,” he said. “You’re so thin, people are going to think you’re _gay_.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking as uninterested as possible, and left.

***

Harry stepped out of the fireplace, into Malfoy’s living room. He could have rationalized why, but did not have the energy; before leaving his house last evening, Malfoy had given him a piece of parchment with an address and an hour, he had called sick to work, and here he was. That was all.

The house looked more or less as he would have expected; too elegant, too tidy, too _cold_. It reminded him of the fucking Dursleys. And here was coming, with what seemed like a bottle of whiskey (so disgusting, how did people _choose_ to drink that) in his hand: the most elegant, tidy and cold thing in the whole God-damned neighborhood.

They sat in the uncomfortable couches and drank the whiskey.

“So, I’m assuming you want me to fuck you this time.”

It was unbelievable, not only his looks had not changed, but the way in which he acted and spoke was still as mature as that in which Harry’s own teenage son did. “You’re wasting your time fucking idiots now?” he asked.

Malfoy laughed. “You remember that! Good! See, lucky for you, I myself have grown wise enough to understand that idiots might be endearing.”

He reached to kiss Harry, while caressing his cheek. Harry himself did not have any practice at being simultaneously cruel and sweet, so he went with the sweet. He placed his own hand above Malfoy’s, and absorbed himself in the kiss.

They kissed for a couple of moments, and then Malfoy pulled back, just when it was getting _good_. “Your wand,” he said softly.

“ _What._ ”

“I need you, to give me, your wand,” explained Malfoy, patiently.

_“Why.”_

“Because, trust me, you won’t have nearly as much fun if you don’t.”

This time, Harry did not need rationalizations. He had no idea what Malfoy was playing at, but _he_ had grown wiser, and knew how easily pain could turn into pleasure. And that in this sense, humiliation was just like any other pain. Perhaps Malfoy could, intuitively, grasp that this would be his pattern of thought. Perhaps that was _exactly_ what he was playing at. Harry handed him his wand.

This time, Malfoy caressed his ear and said, “good boy,” still with the same mellow tone, that in normal circumstances would have been extremely annoying instead of arousing.

He took Harry’s hand, and wordlessly leaded him to a big bedroom. With a wave of Harry’s own wand, (the _bitch!_ ) Harry was lying, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed.

Malfoy drew near, and ran a hand through his hair, exposing the scarred forehead. “I forgot about your scar, so cute,” he smiled affectionately. Then, groped Harry’s stomach. “And so tiny, just like a refugee.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “you give the nicest compliments.”

Still affectionately: “don’t play smart with me.” He felt Harry’s trimmed side. “I like it. Why cover it with a robe?”

Another wave. Now Harry was, not naked, but dressed ridiculously, like some muggle whore: black ripped shorts – extremely short - and a matching black crop top. He still had his glasses, and nothing else.

Malfoy smiled a bigger, happier smile. “Better.” He ran his hand yet again, over Harry’s now exposed waist, squeezing it here and there.

Afterwards, he put Harry’s wand inside a drawer (so close and so far away… _too late_.)

He had taken a different item from the drawer: a camera. Harry gasped, but _too fucking late_. Malfoy took some photos, from different angles, and returned the camera to the drawer.

“Now what?” asked Harry.

“Now?” Malfoy laughed, “now I leave.”

“You… what?!”

“It’s only for a couple of hours,” he laughed louder. Then took off Harry’s glasses, “you won’t need those.”

He turned, and with a wave of his own wand, it was fully dark.

***

Harry had no way of knowing how much time had passed. He was cold and lonely, and everything hurt so much. The worst part was the dark; Harry had witnessed enough horrors in his life, and it was easy enough for those horrors to materialize themselves now. His eyes quickly filled up with tears.

***

As couple of hours passed, Malfoy came back, as promised. He waved his wand again, for light, and smiled widely, like nothing had happened. When he reached near to the bed, for a stupid moment, Harry feared that he would see his tears. Indeed, Malfoy not only saw them, but dipped a finger and _tasted_ them. He seemed immensely pleased.

“Good boy! Waiting so quietly.” A laugh.

“That was not what we agreed. Let me go now. It will not end here.”

Malfoy smirked, as they had agreed on nothing, and anyway Harry was obviously in no position to threaten. But he waved his wand, and Harry was released, fully dressed and wearing his glasses. He gave him back his wand, still smirking.

“It will not-be-the end of it, and don’t even start with _blackmailing_.”

Malfoy seemed genuinely confused for a moment, and then laughed again, innocently this time. “You mean the _photos_? Those are for wanking… Wait, I will give you some of mine…”

Harry dismissed him and went home. When he arrived, he masturbated fiercely.

***

Harry had brought some beer. Expensive, because _of course_ , but still, good-old-drinkable by human beings-beer.

Draco seemed thoughtful. “So, I understand that you would like to be my little bitch?”

He was not wearing a robe this time, but something more… seductive, to say the least. A leather outfit, tight to his slender body as an additional layer of skin.

Harry nodded. “But no more… Whatever you call what you did last time.”

Draco emitted a dismissive noise. “You do understand that it would be no fun to do that again, without the element of surprise?”

“Very reliable.”

“And you are still here. Anyway, you do understand…” Harry rolled his eyes. “…that all you have to do is _not-to give me-your wand_?”

Harry had no answer for that.

“So it is settled, I guess.” Draco smiled happily. “Strip.”

“Now?” Harry was enjoying his beer.

“I said _strip_ , little bitch.”

Harry took off his robe, exposing his little fragile body. Draco seemed pleased, what caused a wave of warmth to arise inside Harry’s chest.

He groped Harry’s side. “Very nice. Underwear.”

Harry took it off as well, silently complimenting himself about the expression of surprise that appeared on Draco’s face.

“That is _very_ nice,” he said, with a wider smile. Who would have said. I would _never_ have guessed.”

The warmth turned into frost. What was that supposed to mean?

Draco grabbed Harry’s not-even-erect-yet cock, feeling it with cold, rough fingers. “Good. My own _pretty_ little bitch. Kneel.”

Harry obeyed. “What now?”

“You don’t speak until I tell you. Lick my boots. I want them fully clean.”

He brought one leg closer to Harry. It was covered by a -quite feminine- over-the-knee boot. Afterwards, he took a book from the coffee table, wore a couple of narrow, framed in blue reading glasses, and started to read.

And Harry started to lick. A rather boring process, he found it. Once in a while, Draco would comment on his ineptitude as a boot cleaner, point out at unlicked spots, and ask him how much of an idiot he could possibly be. In other occasions, he would painfully smack him on the head with his book.

After what seemed like an hour passed, Harry’s head was already exploding, and whatever part of his mind that still worked was screaming at him what the hell was he doing there, and how low did he have to fall in life in order to even reach this place; Draco stood up, and declared that Harry was a good bitch, who had done a good job. Now, he would be rewarded. “Come.”

Harry felt filled up with hope. Maybe a taste of the heaven under all this leather? He stood up to walk.

Draco gave him a “tch.” “Crawl.” And headed himself to the bedroom.

When Harry finally arrived, the sight was worth it. So beautiful, he thought he would go blind. A naked, broad yet slender, marble white body sat on the bed, silver hair sweetly spread (Draco did look almost sweet this way.) Still not muscular, but neither quite soft, something else, _solid,_ or _firm_.

It was an agony to see and not touch. And yet an agony which Harry would have chosen a million times, rather than not see at all.

“Come. Up to the bed. Why do you still have those stupid glasses.”

Harry took off his glasses and climbed onto the bed. Then, it was heaven. They just rolled in bed, their bodies tightly pressed. It did not matter that he was not wearing glasses, for he was still close enough to delight himself at the sight, touch and smell of this creamy-marble-silver-heavenly body.

The happy, animalistic free rolling ended soon. Now Draco’s agile body was on top of Harry’s, pressing his wrists firmly behind the head. Harry squinted and gazed at the air. His wand was comfortably floating a few meters above them, too far to reach manually, but close enough to respond to Harry’s call in case he would need it. He returned his gaze to the deity on top of him.

“Feeling safe, pretty bitch? Good, now stay like this.”

He reached to the nightstand and took some silk scarves from one of the drawers, which he used to tie Harry’s hands. He felt some relief; it had been enough with the handcuffs. These were actually quite nice, and it was good that his feet remained free. He moaned in pleasure when Draco caressed his hardening cock, simultaneously spreading soft kisses over his neck and face. “Don’t stop…”

Draco smiled at him, “you would like that, right?” He squeezed the skin over Harry’s concave stomach and pecked him softly on the lips. Then caressed his hair, saying, “but as I _explained_ you, you’ve been a _good_ bitch, and you should get your reward.”

For all Harry knew, this reward could be either awesome sex, or an unforgivable curse. He just did not care right now.

Draco reached again to the nightstand, and picked something from inside a box. A latex glove. Then, he reached for his wand, waved it next to Harry’s ass, and lubed his hole. Afterwards, he put it back on the nightstand, and discarded the glove.

Harry could not repress a laugh; and to think that Ginny had such unholy uses for her own wand! But here was this man, putting on a fucking latex glove, just to avoid touching his wand with slightly sex-juice stained hands! That was so _Slytherin!_ (Embarrassing as it was, Harry would still catch himself sometimes thinking in those childish terms.)

Draco was not pleased. “What’s so funny, bitch?” And he smacked him, not waiting for an answer.

He did not fuck Harry right away, but took his time to examine his body. A very cute face, still. Rather small, yet well marked features. Pale lips. Pretty, pretty green eyes. Then the chest and stomach. He touched them. “Why are you so skinny?” he asked, “seriously your wife doesn’t feed you? Should I feed you? I am not cooking for you. And the food my wife cooks is only for me. Better stay unfed, I like your refugee look anyway.”

Harry did not even try to answer to this ramble. _Good_ , thought Draco, he was _learning_.

Next, he went over Harry’s legs. “Hair.” He twisted his face. “Shave it.” And his buttocks. He took a couple of moments to feel them. “Not terrible, but a bit disappointing. Do squats. Every day, make a routine.”

Harry could not help himself, “why _the hell_ do you know what squats are?” That earned him yet another smack.[1]

When Harry tilted his head back, repressing a whim, Draco saw it as the perfect opportunity to penetrate him. He did so roughly, without preparation, and started fucking him quickly and energetically. It took him a couple of minutes to realize that Harry was taking it surprisingly gracefully; he was moving along Draco’s rhythm, the cute face full of blush, and was emitting quiet, pleasant moans. He had to be used to this… with whom? Had he been fucked by other men? Or perhaps… Ginny Weasley?!

Draco closed his eyes, feeling his whole body getting filled by pure, raw magic... _Harry getting fucked by Ginny… Harry getting fucked by him… Him getting fucked by Ginny… Him fucking Harry and getting fucked by Ginny at the same time…_ Harry’s moans had became louder and more excited now, but Draco was already far, far away. In a world of pleasure.

***

Harry told Ginny about his new affair. In general lines, omitting its fetishistic nature.

She giggled. “Oh _good_ , I’m so happy! He is such a pretty boy… Told you that opening the marriage would be a good idea!”

She caressed Harry’s shoulder and kissed his head.

***

Ginny woke up, her husband still asleep next to her. She cuddled closer to the slender body, which contained such an implausible amount of energy. It usually made her feel so alive, so what was this bitter feeling? _Ah…_ Yes, she remembered. Well, if this was the price of freedom, it was _so_ worth it.

She drew even closer, and felt his… smooth legs. _What?_ Had he _shaved_ them? She ran her hand over the silky skin, with delight. Was that for _him_? Why had he never shaved for her? It _might_ be… because she had never thought about asking. That was a fair enough reason.[2]

~2021~

They were playing another one of their little games, which Draco had became especially fond of. Lately, it did not include any kind of bondage, and usually, nor any kind of excuses; it consisted solely on whipping Harry. The tools used to play the game included his wand, his belt and several actual whips. Tears never failed to make him hard. Incidentally, they neither ever failed to make Harry hard, and that was just another reason for crying.

Now Harry was on the bed, on all fours, his ass (which had became fairly shapely in the past few months, Draco believed that he deserved some credit for that) was a bit uplifted, just in the right position to be comfortably whipped. Right now, it looked like a map painted in purple. Draco was especially energetic today, and the beating did not appear to be softening, but just the contrary.

Harry screamed higher than the usual, the last one had just hurt too much. “ _Stop!_ ”

 _“Shut up, stupid pussy, learn to take some pain you idiot!”_ screamed back Draco, and hit him again.

Harry kept screaming for him stop. It took a couple of additional long seconds, but Draco finally understood that Harry was serious. He stepped back, yet was full of rage. “What _the fuck_ is up with you today?!”

Harry was crying uncontrollably. Draco softened, a bit. He took a moment to fix his breath and say, trying to control his voice: “O.K, I’m sorry. I don’t know what the matter is but it seems like I crossed a line. You were completely fine last time, now please _for the love of God,_ tell me _what-is-the-problem._ ”

Harry held his sobbing the best he could. “It’s too much... I hate it... No actually I hate it anyway… Even if it’s not too much I mean… I don’t want it anymore.”

“You _proposed_ it. _Why_ did you proposed it if you didn’t want it?”

“I thought I would like it. I was wrong.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it earlier? Why hold all this months?”

“Because I was not sure.”

Draco clutched his head for an instant and mumbled something that sounded like “idiot.” He took a deep breath. “So you were not sure if you liked it or not.”

Harry nodded.

“You seemed to be enjoying, at least mostly.”

“Many times I was. But all in all I don’t like it.”

“And you finally understood it now.”

“Yes.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “O.K… O.K, then.”

He climbed on the bed and sat next to Harry, that was now cuddled between the blankets. He hugged him tightly. Then smiled and shook his head a bit. “You _are_ a little pussy,” he said affectionately.

Harry nodded. “Yeah…” he whispered.

Draco kept holding him.

“Look,” said Harry, “it’s not like… It’s not like I don’t like… I mean, I do like it, I mean, that you’re in charge, but…”

“But you don’t want to be hurt anymore. You just want to be held.”

“Yes…” Something about the exactitude in which Draco had expressed this, caused Harry to shade more tears.

“We can do that,” answered Draco finally.

And it was fine, because the embrace was so safe and warm. They stayed like that for a while.

~2022~

Draco _had_ cooked for Harry, eventually. And it was good, also. But of course, it came with teasing. They were eating on the sofa in the living room of the mansion that they had hired for the weekend.

As Harry served himself another portion, Draco gave him a cold look. “Careful. I will leave you here if you get fat. By the way, the fact that we’re in vacation doesn’t mean that you’re exempt from your squats.”

Harry ignored him.

Draco sometimes missed smacking him, but caring for him was as satisfying, or almost. Funny how this crazy shit worked. He gently rubbed his back and gave him several kisses on the neck.

“That’s very nice, but will you let me eat?”

“No. If you can’t control yourself, I have no choice but forcing you to behave.”

Harry sighed.

***

Later, the same weekend, at bed in the big, luxurious bedroom. Outside, there was a storm. Draco was leaning on a pile of pillows, his silver hair tied in a loose bun, but some of it had managed to get away, and fell over the ivory forehead. He was wearing his sexy, blue framed reading glasses. With one hand he held a book; with the other he softly caressed Harry, who was cuddled with his head on Draco’s flat belly, staring at the fireplace.

Harry was usually a practical type, not one to dwell into philosophical questions. But now, he was considering one such a problem – the problem of self-continuity; could it be that there was just one of him, of Harry, and that that was the one who was now willingly in this place, with this person, in this situation? Thinking about his past-selves, this seemed nonsensical.

And yet, he was here. And it was nice, so wonderfully nice.

[1] That is a fair point, actually.

[2] Seriously, though, does somebody here have a husband who shaves legs? Where did you get him?


End file.
